


The Journey of Justice

by Lord_Robbie



Series: The love  of Queens [2]
Category: 16th Century CE RPF, Harry Potter - Fandom, The Tudors (TV), wolf Hall
Genre: F/F, Genderbending, Genderswitching, Lesbian Sex, Magic, Non-Consensual Tickling, Tickling
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-07
Updated: 2017-06-09
Packaged: 2018-04-25 08:24:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4953256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lord_Robbie/pseuds/Lord_Robbie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The sequel of a Secret life. It feature femslash between two of the Night King's wives and the romance of a Saint and a Queen. Features heavy sexual violence</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. After the Secret's Revelation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taking place over 20 years after the events of a Secret Life, Anne and Jane continue the journey of love. Meanwhile Mary Tudor meets a knight in shining armour that sweeps her off her feet. While the nefarious Ekrizdis, Anne's mortal enemy Cardinal Thomas Wolsey, plots to replace Elizabeth with his puppet Mary Stuart, Queen of Scots

19 November 1567

Anne waved her wand, cleaning the room with ease. She grinned as she observed her sleeping lover. She and Jane were nearing 60, but due to George's infantile lunacy, they didn't look it as much as they felt it. They were Anne and Jane Boleyn-Seymour. She still recalled the hateful look on Jareth Hobart's face when they did tie the knot 20 years ago. After all with Henry's death, they were widows. That made Anne smile. She, long ago, had lost all sympathy for the late Henry of England. This was her home with the woman she loved.

Isabel Carew winced each time she looked into the mirror. For each day since it happened, she dreamed she was her old self again. She yearned to be a man again. She still felt sore from her husbands perversions. Why was she a woman? Why couldn't she age? How much longer could she endure? She heard the tapping and began to undress. She silently cursed her jailor. Hadn't she given him enough sons and daughters to get her some relief and he a Mistress? Sadly he never wanted anyone but Isabel. And she was unable to refuse him. The maids grinned their wicked grins as they bound her naked body. Her buttocks was blood red as usual with the odd streak of black and blue. A wicked maid gently teased her womanhood. She couldn't keep from moaning though. She craved a woman's touch, but it wasn't going to be a nice touch like this. Isabel whimpered when she was shown the instruments of her torment. A belt, a wooden cane and horrible stiff feathers of various sizes. She was invited to pick the instrument of her shame. She chose the belt, knowing it would be a temporary relief. How they had ten maids, she never learnt. Her husband refused to release the contents of their finances. She braced herself for the first strike.

Anne beamed at Jane as she rose slowly from the bed. Jane had endured much in her life. But it all lead to these moments. Where Anne was between her legs, using her tongue and lips to please, was the kind of moments she would treasure. And the pleasure, what pleasure it was indeed. The feeling of interconnection, the dizziness sensations of pleasure, it was almost overwhelming. But Jane loved the sensations, that pleasure as Anne continued the movement of her head as she pushed Jane closer to orgasm. "It was hell, pure hell!" thought Isabel Carew as the husband's maids put her through the wringer. She was not a person, but an object to be played. And the agony! What horrible ordeals, her tender body was put through. And didn't her wicked husband laugh it. "Strike those cheeks! Stroke her soles! Whip her womanhood! Remonstrate with her ribs!" he called out. And they would to Isabel's agony. Isabel could not understand how this could happen. A maid found a particularly bad spot under her arms which increasing the shrieking emanating from her throat. In response her husband commanded another maid to find the corresponding spot on the other side. Had she not been a faithful servant to the Almighty? Made worship of him central rather than anything else. Still she was in this hell, a woman instead of the great King she has been. Isabel Carew instead of the great King Henry who reformed England. Isabel squealed as the whipping of her womanhood began to hurt. There was a loud sound as wood connected with a tender seat of skin. But worse was the tickling! The horrible, torturous feelings as long nails raked across those tender ribs, wriggling and spreading her fingers across the delicate nerve endings and tender areas. "She isn't making enough noise, my dears! Please pick up the pace. My quiver needs to explore and pound both the quinny and the end entrance with great haste. She needs to being excavated quickly. With great swiftness, dear girls! Pick up the pace!" declared Isabel's husband; Nicholas Saunders.

Mary Tudor still found it odd. Margaret and her family were so breathtakingly beautiful, but her little sister was surely deceased. Except she clearly wasn't. Margaret and her family had magic, but it wasn't evil as she believed. It was so complicated. Her 4 year old namesake niece approached her, her face alight with happiness. "Auntie Mary, you like flowers? I have flowers, they're beautiful like you. Tell me story, because I love you and I like stories and I miss you!" rapidly declared the little girl, hugging Mary around the leg. Mary lifted the girl, pushing her weary sinews to the limit. "I have a story to tell you, sweetheart." The girl looked so happy, Mary stopped her usual overthinking on Magic. "What's the story about?" asked Mary. "When I met auntie Joan!" replied Mary, casting her attention to the beautiful redhead sitting on a chair, under a parasol. The legendary general might look 19, but the 104 year age difference between she and Mary left that a moot point. That and the fact that like Catherine Howard, she was a vampire. The one who turned her was an old flame and rival Catherine de La Rochelle. Catherine's white lady had been Catalina of Castile, an ancestor of Mary's. She took a moment to eye the beautiful redhead, who was eyeing a magical piece with suspicion before praying. Joan truly never changed. Mary smiled before beginning her story with her little niece.


	2. True love vs terrible Lust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mary begins her story about how she and Jehanne met

"After what happened with Ekrizdis, I was feeling so vulnerable. Nothing made sense. And the news that my cruel husband Phillip was pursuing Elizabeth; just made me angrier. So your grandfather spoke to me. "My Dear Mary, you can't just mope around the house. You need to get out and meet people again!" she advised. "I look like a girl of 20 again, Jane! Who will take me seriously!" I wailed. "You should speak to Fitzroy, if anyone can understand, it's a vampire trapped in the body of a teenager. He works at the healing house with another formidable vampire. One you may have heard of." "Grandpa was talking about Auntie Joan, wasn't she?" asked young Mary, excitedly. "My dear little Mary Parkinson, do you wish to hear my story or don't you?" expressed an amused Mary. "Yes! Please Aunty Mary! Please?!!!" pleaded Mary Parkinson, daughter of Margaret of Clarence. Mary was pleased that her niece had such a keen mind. It augured well for the future. She beamed and nodded at her niece as she continued with her tale.

"I remember entering the room. Because of the revolution when Dudley tried to seize the throne, people mistrusted me. I had spared the Greys and named them my heirs after Aunt Elizabeth, who I named Princess of Wales and Duchess of Clarence and Lancaster. You see Mary, many felt that my usurpation of the throne was wrong. I had been the wife to the Duke of Milan later King of Spain Phillip since 1547, when he was not yet twenty and I was 31. I had been elevated by my brother the King then only 9 to Privy Councillor once again and I swiftly became pregnant. Phillip was already a widower, having deeply loved his young wife who gave him Don Carlos his first born. I lost all 7 babies during our 11 year marriage. Each lasted only 19 days at the most, our first born was returned to the Almighty at 6. Phillip became more callous as time when on, but his first seduction had stayed and distorted me. He left a rift between Elizabeth and I that never healed. Many blamed me for keeping Lady Sandwich from being Elizabeth's guardian, but I knew enough about Lord Sandwich, Thomas Seymour to know better. She never accepted the True Faith. She like the rest of my siblings believed the Pope's office a travesty. Pope Paul the Fourth's dalliance with sodomy angered my brother. Edward still resents the Papal Office. He blames them because he cannot be King since he developed magic so late in life. Though 16 is hardly late, I think. He is still bitter about how things ended with Jane. Hopefully young Esmeralda Bloodwater can erase this displeasure." remarked Mary. "Aunt Mary, you're telling me everything but the story! It's boring! I want to hear you and Aunty Joan!" whined Mary.

Mary couldn't help, but giggle at that. Children were quite unusual in their lack of manners. Still the story must continue. "The Healers were largely nervous around me, the usurping Queen who brought in the Inquisition. But a tall, beautiful redhead with blue eyes called them back to duty. I had heard that Joan of Arc had blonde hair, green eyes and was not tall and appeared quite plain. Nothing could be further from the truth. She was the epitome of beauty and found myself awestruck by her great beauty." Mary paused to watch Joan who was still praying. She couldn't help but smile. Joan, despite being a vampiric witch and Metamorphigi, was still an ardent child of the Lord. "I am Jehanne La Pucelle, your Grace. You honour us by your presence." Naturally Joan spoke in her native tongue, she spoke even then with such an aristocratic flair as if to confirm her status as the Dauphin's half-sister. Though she would deny it." added Mary with a sparkle in her eye, that made her nice giggle. "I am honoured to be around such noble professionals who aid those most in need!" I replied.

They say vampires cannot blush. Well those who are also Metamorphigi can. Joan once told me that she was certain that Catherine de La Rochelle gave her magic when she made her Immortal. The sunlight and flame freezing spells that Catherine cast to allow Joan to survive the flames was as once described to me by Joan, a worse torture than the Rictusempra Charm. At any case, she offered me her hand, kneeling as a good knight always does. I won't deny that I was already then, immensely taken by this captivating woman. Though she was considered the great enemy of England once, so was the great Queen Isabelle known to history as the great she-wolf, dispatching her weak husband Edward the disgraced, guaranteeing his son; our ancestor would become the great King Edward III. An irony, as Queen Isabel was the basis of the great King's claim that led to Joan's calling and our love story. "Keep going, Aunty Mary. I want to hear you kissed her and hugged me and got married and..." "It was a thrilling tale, little cherie. Please allow your beautiful aunt to continue." interrupted Joan, kissing Mary's neck. Mary bit back her moans. How could she ever have loved any man, when someone like Joan was out there. She squealed a little when Joan gently ran her nails over her ribs and belly. "So soft!" Mused Joan as Mary blushed. She was determined to get her wife back for the sneak tickle attack. Maybe a few well placed feathers on tender, vampiric soles. But for now she continued her tale."


	3. Mary and Joan For fangirl IOU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To my new friend IOU,
> 
> Enjoy this quick chapter, to be edited later. The story involves interruptions from both Ekrizdis and the unfortunate Isabel Carew.

"I felt a strange sort of longing for this beautiful woman. I kept reminding myself that I was a Lancaster and hence, this gorgeous individual was indeed the enemy of my house. As I hail from John of Gaunt, the House of Lancaster, it proved difficult as we made our way past a few injured people. "I hope you do not find it too difficult, your Majesty. The ailing are always a difficult sight for those devoted to our Lord and Saviour!" continued Joan. Even now, I wince at my response to her statement. "I imagine it must be more difficult to see all these people with their available blood and not feast on them!" I quipped. Joan stiffened noticeably at this and I regretted my quip instantly. "Forgive my rudeness, Lady Jehanne! Such comments were..." "It is forgotten!' she declared, abruptly; her hair changing to brunette. I wanted to devise some way to atone for my rudeness. Here I was alone, a woman of 43...."

"Aunty, 53!" interrupted Mary. "The tale takes place before your birth, some 10 year earlier, petite chou. In those days, your chatouilleuse aunt was then, only 43!" remarked Jehanne, giving Mary's ribs another tweak. Mary giggled, girlishly; unable to resist Jehanne's powerful fingers and nails. "When we are alone, I will test my spell Rictusempra!" whispered Jehanne into Mary's ear. Mary would have grimaced, if the tickling wasn't still taking place. Why a woman who hated being tickled so much, love to tickle her equally, she would never know. "Aunty Jehanne! Don't tickle Aunty Mary!!! Tell me the story!" demanded little Mary, crossing her arms.

Jehanne's eyebrows rose slightly. "Perhaps little Marie, you would like me to do it to instead?" proposed Jehanne. Marie squealed, backing away from the Pucelle. "It was a difficult walk. I kept staring at the beautiful brunette, whose eyes sparkling like gems. I wanted desperately to think of something, anything, to break the ice I have caused. "Your brother is currently attending to a poor transfigured man. He tried to change himself into an eagle, so he could fly. Sadly, the result was poor." concluded Jehanne. "If my brother is occupied, Madame Pucelle, could I request the honour and pleasure of your company? I confess to having many questions." "Regrettably I have other duties. If you are available this evening, I may be able to grant such a request. It...it would be an honour." she added.

I must admit, I almost kissed her. I nodded as I stared into her beautiful eyes. I leaned closer, though I knew she didn't breathe; I could swear that her breath was quickening. Though vampires have no distinctive smell of their, I could swear that I remembered the fragrance of lilies as I brought the distance between us down. The gap was less than a thimble, my eyes and hers closing when your aunt Catherine Fitzroy interrupted. I turned to spy Catherine, glaring at her for interrupting. Jehanne's face was flush red as she sped off to held the poor little wizard boy who turned his owl into gold by mistake and couldn't undo the error. "By St George, Mary! You and the Pucelle?" giggled Catherine. "I don't know what you are talking about!" I huffed.

"Of course, not! Just like your godmothers!" she teased. I couldn't combat the blushing that seized control of my face. "She is quite beautiful, Mary. And from what I saw quite interested. She is also available. Her sire Catherine de La Rochelle has a new lover a widow called Clara Geisslerin. So if you were interested in such an interesting companion..." "I came to see your husband. I was hoping he had some advice for me, regarding my current condition." I interrupted, not wanting to hear more about the dazzling healer." "Dazzling am I, my Marie?" whispered Jehanne. "Always!" whispered back Mary as Jehanne kissed her neck.

"Perhaps I can advise? We are both roughly the same age physically and I have no magic to speak of. And we are both female." proposed Catherine. "Do you find it that you are...well..." "That you are not seen as a person, but rather a child. As if both your lack of magic and your noble pedigree prevent you from connecting or even be accepted by others, to say nothing of earning their respect?" conclude Catherine. I gaped a little before nodding. "I understand, Mary. Remember my reputation has been damaged too. Even though it was the same person who trapped you, people still believe that I was the fornicator. And that I must endure. The 4th queen murdered by your father, an act considered fair play by too many." Pointed out Catherine. I shook my head, the though still grieved me. "I wonder how he could act so cold." I wondered. "Was Phillip different? Only your brother is a real man." noted your aunt Catherine.

"I regret that I didn't take the time to get to know your Aunty Catherine while she lived, Mary. I am glad I can now as she is a vampire. She was kind and supportive as we talked further. "I feel so alone! Anne and Jane are so happy. My siblings are either concluding studies or at new positions. Or they have loved ones. What does the future have for me? I have no children, no love and no position! You are a healer, Catherine. What can I do?" I whimpered. "You can start my confessing your interest in Jehanne. Even if it is merely a friendship, it will serve you well. After all is this not how Jane and Anne started?" remarked Catherine.

Isabel hated all. It felt so painful. Every part of her hurt. Yet when Nicholas entered her, her voice lied. It moaned liked a whore, mewled like a strumpet and cried like a harlot. And then Nicholas would summon the maids for tickling. And how it was torturous! An ordeal of ordeal. Feathers snakes into the crevices between her toes. Nails peppered tender underarm flesh. Tongue invaded navels. But the worst were her lady places. Not matter how often her fortresses were broke , their sensitivity not only thrived but increased. And when she stained the sheets, she would be punished further. Nicholas had threatened to offer her squirming body to the devilish fingers of young village girls if she had another accident. She nearly went insane the last time. He expressed delight in her agony as a finger tormented tickly, stiff nipples. But it was the skin below her belly button and back, that curvaceous arc that produced the greatest wailing. That was why there was 4 maids, all were their uniforms of birth bringing her agony. She longed for a taste of genie nectar or that they could taste her. Instead the hell of Isabel Carew, who believed she had been the great King Henry Tudor, dissolved further into hysteria as her soft mound was mercilessly tickled by wickedly long nailed fingers.

Ekrizdis and Catherine Grey prepared for war. Catherine swore to destroy Elizabeth by whatever means necessary. The spattergoit she had developed and the separation from her husband and children made her violently angry. Elizabeth was responsible for all her agony, from the loss of her parents and elder sister to her current circumstances. Ekrizdis' war against the last Tudor heir was one that she believed in. Catherine knew she had only months to live and she would use them to destroy the Queen by whatever means necessary. Her son Edward, should have been the Duke of Suffolk, Somerset and Northumberland as well Marquess of Dorset and Earl of Hertford. Instead her sons Edward and Thomas would bear the shame of illegitimacy that would never be undone. She wouldn't rest until Elizabeth suffered as they had. Ekrizdis smirked as Lord Norfolk was determined to eliminate the Boleyn Queen. With Gallus Black and his particularly angry brother-in-law Lucius Malfoy who had cursed Elizabeth, the reign of the House of Boleyn would come to a crashing halt. There could be no better method of revenge.

The North would rise against the Queen, favouring the Stuart woman. Rosa Malfoy nee Black was currently impersonating Queen Mary Stuart's lady-in-waiting Mary Fleming. This would prove critical in manipulating the former Scottish Queen, while Gallus Black was impersonating Fleming's husband using polyjuice potion. With the combined army of goblins, Blood Elves, Inferi and Dementors, victory would be his. The scar across his right eye still hasn't healed though. His battle with Boleyn in Suffolk had proved the Half Blood Queen was a greater enemy that he thought. Who would have believed that his injury had remained unchanged since that fateful day on the 31st December 1558. He shook his head, he would not remember it. Thomas Cromwell, bastard son of Gregory, approached his great grandfather. "We have secured Charles's Neville, Lord Westmoreland for the plot. Soon the North will unite under the Scottish queen and destroy the Boleyn bitch!" declared Thomas. Thomas, so resembled his son the Earl of Essex, Ekrisdis almost believed he was. But his son had been dead for many years and when Boleyn destroyed the Inferi, he lost the last part of him. "You shall be avenged, my son!" swore the Dark Wizard as he slashed at a portrait of Queen Elizabeth.

"Mary, we must leave for home now. Say goodbye to Aunt Mary and Aunt Jehanne!" cried Margaret of Clarence. "But Mummy!!!!" pleaded Mary Parkinson. "You must honour thy mother, Marie. Your aunt shall relate the tale of our romance at a later date. Best wishes, sweet niece!" responded Jehanne. Mary beamed as her family left hand in hand. She felt Jehanne's arms around her. "I am aware of your threat of a feather across my soles, my love. I believe you should go first, mon amour!" declared Jehanne. Marie could only moan as Jehanne began to plant love marks across her neck. "We cannot stay long, ma chérie! I cannot long stay amongst the powerful rays of the sun!" remarked Jehanne. Mary turned around, kissing those familiar soft lips. She closed her eyes as the familiar sensations descended upon her. She knew how much Jehanne hated all this magic, dealing with changes in her life. But none of that mattered now. As Mary was gently lowered into the bed, all she could thinking about was those soft lips as thye began their descent.


	4. Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the tensions build in the Catholic North of England as the Queen Mary of Scotland surprised everyone in an unexpected victory at the Battle of Langside. And to all my French readers, je demande votre pardon, mon orthographe est horrible.

June 13, 1568

Queen Mary sent emissaries to Elizabeth, offering Scottish recognition of her crown in exchange for Elizabeth's recognition and assistance of Mary's role as Regent to her son. Mary had decided that by taking the role of Regent Queen, she could calm the Scottish nobles and weaken her brother Moray. She had nothing but hate for the brother who stole her son. Bastard in name and deed. He would pay the ultimate price, but not at that point. Lady Fleming was right, play things carefully and her son would be King of England and Scotland. Mary heard about the issues that Elizabeth was having in the North of England. She was pleased that her heathen cousin was having problems.

Edward slammed his fist against the wall. Tears flowed down his face. He felt such hatred for the Boleyns! Elizabeth had murdered his wife essentially. His children were bastards. And Dudley was Earl of Leicester. Robert Dudley, son of the man who destroyed his father and overthrown the bitch Queen Elizabeth, was an Earl and the Queen's favourite. Edward Seymour, Earl of Hertford, would watch Queen Elizabeth fall. He didn't care if magic was real or not. He cared not for titles or power, though his sons would be Somerset, Suffolk and Dorset; when the Scottish Queen was the Regent of England, Wales, Scotland and Ireland. But Edward would get to murder Robert Dudley personally. That was something he dearly wanted. "Your impatience aside, Lord Herford; do not worry! When my son is King of England, your family will be rewarded!" declared the Queen. "Thank you, my Queen!" declared Edward. He would soon be back in his home in Northampton. The Boleyn Queen didn't even know where Edward was. But soon, he would have her destroyed.

Ekrizdis looked at the mirror. He recalled that terrible day. The day he lost his face and worse his son. "YOU KILLED MY SON!" screamed Ekrizdis. "He had stopped being your son when Henry killed him, Wolsey. Let the hate between us be ended!" pleaded Anne. "Avada Kedavra! cried Ekrizdis. Anne moved the statue in front of her. It was blasted to smithreens. "Incante Inflammare!" she retorted. Ekrizdis cast a water spell to put out the flames. "Reducto!" chanted Anne, causing the wall to explode. A piece of marble carved into Ekrizdis' face, making him scream. "Stupefy!" commanded Anne. Ekrizdis used the spell Protego to block it. A few more jets of light flew from Anne's wands causing Ekrizdis to fall back. A body binding curse was repelled back at him. He pushed it away, dodging another Reduction curse. He felt a wall behind him. He was trapped. Before Anne could finish him, his army arrived. Anne seized Mary Tudor and disapparated. Gallus tried in vain to heal him. To no avail. "Where is that idiot Hobart?" demanded Ekrizdis. Gallup shivered, pointing to burning ash. Anne Boleyn had reduced her enemy Jarleth Hobart to ash. She had killed his son, his servant and scarred his face. "One day, Anne Boleyn you will pay. Within 18 months, the North shall overthrow your daughter and she will be beheaded!" he swore.

Anne and Jane walked comfortably the streets of London. Two of their House Elves had taken the appearance of large, burly men. It was a wonder to walk these streets, hand in hand. Anne hadn't stopped trying to help Jane learn magic. Edward's magical ability was proof that Jane could one day wield a wand. "Lady Anne! Lady Jane! What a pleasure to see you both!" cried out a familiar voice behind them.

"Sir Nicholas! How thrilling to see you again? And this is your youthful bride?" asked Anne. Isabel Carew could not believe it. Anne and Jane were alive! Anne was staring right at him, without a single clue that she was her late husband. "Yes, this is my delectable bride, Isabel Carew!" declared Sir Nicholas. Isabel wanted to say something, but the words wouldn't leave her mouth. "It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Lady Isabel!" greeted Jane. Isabel was unable to respond to the greeting of either of her former wives. Neither of them recognised her. Why was this happening? Wasn't there some way to explain to them all who she had been?

She could still remember the agony of the night before. There were 7 maids all armed with feathers. One for each foot, one under each arm and rib cage and a feather for each private place. Her only relief was that her stomach and thighs went unmolested. It didn't stop the tears from flowing or her voice from cracking though.

Worse yet was the maid between her thighs would occasionally tease her throbbing womanhood by her long hair with had an equally horrible effect. She felt that familiar building, the urine began to grow inside her bladder. She could feel it become close to release. "Stop ladies! It's my turn now!" declared Sir Nicholas.

The fact that she was expecting again was horrifying. She had the body of a young woman, but she was nearing 40. Each child had almost killed her. She barely saw any of them, they were whisked away before she could see the fruits of her labour. But worse was being penetrated, like a knife in each entrances. Somehow her body reacted in a way her mind didn't, moaning and shrieking like a whore. To Sir Nicholas' delight. He ended the night by making her bound and tortured by the maids until she lost consciousness.

Chains all around her. Hopelessness, fear and her parents were screaming at her. "You were a mistake! You killed my sons! I should never have had you!" declared Henry. "I wanted you to be strong, not a toy for Phillip! I should have drowned you at birth for all the good you did me!" added Catherine of Aragon. The rest was horrible screaming. "Marie! Marie, non tresor! Reveille toi! Marie, il faut que tu reveilles!" pleaded Jehanne.

Marie responded to the gentle shaking from the vampiric Metamorphigi by bolting up, her voice releasing a loud scream. She turned to the beautiful Martyr and sobbed. Jehanne took her into her arms. "Ton fait pas, mon Ange. Le monstre peut pas te faire mal!" Reassured Jehanne. "The Dementors!" cried Mary. "They are not here, Marie! I will never let those beasts send their horrible nightmares into your mind again!" exclaimed Jehanne. Jehanne knew that Dementors brought fear and made you relive your worst nightmares. She knew that the nightmaric visions the Mary saw were the works of Wolsey rather than spirit monsters.

This did not change that Jehanne didn't want Mary to worry about that fiend Ekrizdis. She kept her left arm around the bawling Queen, while reaching for her sword with her right. It shone as she handed it to Mary. "Les anges gave this to me. They knew I would need it. Feel its warmth and be free!" she advised. Mary beamed at her soul mate as she took the sword. The crosses made her feel warm as she cuddled up to Jeanne. She fell asleep almost immediately as Jehanne stroked her hair.

Her sword in its scabbard, cuddled up against Marie's nude form was the perfect tonic for Mary's nightmare. "O, merci O mon Dieu pour tous que vous ma donne!" prayed Jehanne. She, the daughter of farmers, found the love of a noble Queen. Blessed are they, who follow the ways of our Lord and Saviour.

Jane and Anne were married....to each other? Clearly this was hell and still she could not explain what had happened to her. "I heard about the troubles in the North. I am certain my ladies that the Queen will triumph. She has the strength of the two great Queens in her!" noted Sir Nicholas. Isabel badly wanted to correct him and say the strength of King Henry, but her lips wouldn't move. "As if the great Queen would bow down to the Northerners or the Scot! She is glorious like Queen Anne." Isabel bristled at Jane's comments, delivered with such devotion in her eyes towards Anne. Anne's face gained a pinkish hue before she replied in turn. "Any marked by the blessed Queen Jane cannot falter or fail. Queen Elizabeth's greatness was enhanced by her presence. As was Queen Anne." Sie Nicholas wished the ladies well as they fell into a passionate embrace. "How beautiful those happy ladies are, dear Isabel. Lets us return to our home, so your beauty can shine through your sweet laughter!" Isabel nodded against her will. Internally she could only dread more torture.


	5. The Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The War broke out with the unexpected revolt in Sussex to the South. Can Anne protect her daughter from her enemy's wrath?

1st March 1569

Egremont Radclyffe smiled throughout his brother Thomas' funeral. His older brother Henry was on the run, framed for the murder of Earl Thomas; while Durham had fallen to the rebels. The rebels had planned to rebel in November, but the Wizemgamot forced their plans to change. Hamilton had captured and executed Earl Moray, thus guaranteeing Queen Mary's reign as Regent of her son James. The tide has well and truly turned against heresy. Conversion had worked in his favour as Egremont forced the Bishop to both make him Earl and marry Thomas' widow Frances. Egremont wasted no time in planting his seed inside her. Few could remember a less willing bride.

Richard Edmund Boleyn-Seymour sneered at the captured Dark wizard before he began his interrogation. Unlike his brothers Henry William and Edward who were both teachers at Hogwarts, this was where he belonged. Head of the Aurors office reporting to the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot himself Galahad Finnegan, the first Irish Chief Warlock. Richard enjoyed the righteousness of torturing these animals. What was wrong with that? No doubt brother Thomas who was youngest head of the Healers of St Ignotus would disagree. But they and his nephew-brother Brother knew nothing about the world of Dark Wizards. And how Incante Inflammare and the Crutiatus Curse would get vital information to protect their sister Queen Elizabeth.

Isabel tried to breathe. Thankfully her husband was leaving, but he has truly put her through her paces this morn. Every part of her had been prodded, entered, engulfed or struck. Her rear felt like it would screaming, so deeply did it throb. The burning of her body seemed without end. "Ladies, I am going on important business. My wife is to remain natural and bound until my return. I expect new sheets as she will no doubt stain the current ones. Enjoy her to your content. Good day!" he declared. Though it would serve no good, Isabel pleased for mercy. In response she got evil, grinning faces and feathers drawn.

The Head of the Veela beamed as she explores the sensitive Quinny. What could be finer than this? Torturing a beautiful woman like Isabel Carew, with the promise of human recognition from Master Ekrizdis. She never cared why he hated her so much. She was ticklish and that's all that mattered. The others agreed that make the girl scream, stain the sheets and cry was as pleasurable as any other activity. What a pity, there was no way to duplicate her agony; mused the Veela as their nails and feathers brought further mirth flavoured delirium to the suffering bastard princess.

Anne collapsed on the bed, breathing heavily. Jane giggled as she curled up to Anne, resting the witch's hand on her left cheek. "Feeling better, beloved?" she teased. All Anne could do was nod. Jane giggled again, before her expression changed. "I am worried about the rebellion too, but Elizabeth will succeed. She is a true Queen like her mother before her!" she declared. Anne beamed at her. "Your turn!" she declared as she kissed her way down between her moaning, heaving wife's legs.

Henry William Boleyn-Seymour adjusted Cadmus Malfoy's stroke and urged him to try again. The 13 year old waved his wand in a perfect arc, the poltergeist hit the ground with a thud. Peeves growled angrily before leaving through the walls. "You have improved, Cadmus. Now Carloman, you take yours stance." Henry was determined that his class would do well. The Duelling competition between Hogwarts and Durmstrang was supposed to be friendly. But the Head of Ravenclaw and Charms Teacher had no desire to be slack. His students would bring pride to Hogwarts no matter what! A day would come when his children would attend Hogwarts and when that day came, he would have the honour of continuing the family tradition of Duelling. Like his mother before him. And woe, betide any who crossed the powerful Half-Blood or stifled his ambition to one day be the new Headmaster of Hogwarts.

The laboratory of Emile Parkinson was filled with a variety of chemicals. He worked strenuously for a solution. Somewhere there had to be a cure for Dragon Pox. His father Dominic had to be saved. He couldn't die! Margaret approached him, her face solemn. "Marie and Nicholas are in repose!" Dominic nodded without answer. Margaret sighed, handing him a parcel. Emile took it, staring at it with a blank expression. "It came from my brother Healer Edward. Apparently he got his friend Herbert Bones, the Herbology teacher to collect it for you. He heard it helped with the condition." Emile nodded again to his wife. He hoped this would help, but he held out little hope. Dominic was in the final stages now. But he had to try. "That damn blood elf would pay!" he swore. The elf's master Ekrizdis too would pay in full.

Mary Tudor felt calm as she lay against the pillow. The rythmic stroke testament of the love that filled her heart. Only someone who truly loved her would allow this. The feather were light, dancing as if taken by an invisible hand. But it was her small fingers that made them move. And it was the woman who loved her so much, who was shrieking. Mary loved that Jehanne loved her so much she would allow this torture. She was exploring the depth of Jehanne's hollows as somehow her lady love kept from kicking and shaking. She veamed as she ran it down Jehanne's belly, bringing such sweet laughter. She debated taking somewhere private but then Jehan e would stain the sheets. So instead she lazily returned to the soles to Jehanne's agony. "HAHAHAHA!JHIHIJETAHAHAHAIMEHAHAHAHA!" cried Jehanne. "Je t'aime aussi, ma chevaliere! Avec tous mon coeur!" declared Mary. She tormented her toes a little before throwing away the feathers. Jehanne gasped before Mary drew her into a kiss. "Can I marry you a second time?" asked Mary. "Beloved Marie...as many times as you wish!" declared the exhausted vampire.

"I do not regret not ageing!" mused Jane. Anne laughed at that. "Thanks to my late, foolish brother dropping that potion on me as a child and not telling me!" Anne had learned about it later, when she and Jane visited the Healers at St Crispins Hospice for the Infirm. A quick memory extraction and the revelation was clear. No ageing past the first death for either of them. It didnt make them immortal. Eventually they would die of old age. But in their 60s, they still looked the age they were when they passed. Or at least their original bodies. Sometimes it wasnt clear to Anne. "There is a war on, my love. Yet we are content to let our employees rub our store as we lay in our beds giving in to sloth and lust in our exposed states!" Jane grinned at her in reply. "Then let us complete the journey with more lust!" she suggested, positioned herself ob top of Anne. The familiar favoured position led as often did with the mouth extracting nectar from the organ of delights. The familiar and popular thrust of the tongue mirrored by the other. It was as if Anne and Jane were made to fit together this one. Mouth on womanhood, tongues connected them. Fingers squeezing on familiar round circles of muscular skin while chests stroke against ticklish bellies. Anne would never tire of Jane's fingers stroking her rump or being penetrated by those lips, consumed by that tongue. "OHHH!" a unison cry as each felt that familiar sense of freedom. Each was spent in the presence of the other, settling for Jane's head against Anne's heaving chest; Anne fingers stroking Jane's lower back. This was their love and all would know these two were meant to be.


	6. The Battle of London

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Aftermath of Ezkridis attack on London.

7th May 1569

Anne and Jane made their way through London. With the polyjuice potion, they had taken, none would suspect them of being two late Queens. Their sons were gathered in front of them. But the cries kept going. Margaret Parkinson cradled her husband's broken body, a hole through his forehead still blazing hot. Anne felt rage surge through her body. Emile was a good husband to her Margaret. Ezkridis had taken a decent man from her child. And he would pay.

Ezkridis took stock of the defeat. Half the elves had gone. Worse was the defection of so many vampires due to that french sorceress Jehanne D'Arc. Seymour had survived the battle, though and managed to fortify his estates for Elizabeth's attack. Mary had gained further support in England by adopting tolerant policies towards both Papists and Protestants. Ezkridis had even got to kill Finnegan before he was driven back by a combined assault of a team of 7 Aurors led by his sworn enemy's son Richard. He almost slashed at the boy, but another Auror took the blow. He flung a glass container into the wall, his fury growing. How much longer could the Boleyns deny him?

"Such anger, Master! Especially simce the balance is shifting. Soon the Elder Wand will be yours!" noted a voice behind him. Anne Stafford, niece of Anne Boleyn, was twirling her wand through her fingers. The same wand which had secretly ended Emile Parkinson. "Have you found it?" he demanded. She smirked, rolling her eyes. "Patience, Master. The last owner that we know about is dead, at the moment, we are investigating a promising lead. The Prior of Cato is our current suspect." "The Portuguese bastard? Good, he has always been difficult! End him!" Anne nodded, bowing before her Master as she opened and closed the door. Anne Stafford smiled as she began to disapparate. "He hasn't a clue, he still didn't understand. Soon,I shall the wand!" she thought.

Mary watched over the sleeping child. Her heart arched at the sight of her. Her wife Joanne wrapped her right arm around her. "Marie, there is nothing we can do but let her sleep. Emile was a good man. But he has fallen. That was always the difficulty part of war." Mary turned to her beloved, her eyes red. "How could you stand it, my love? When you led the armies against Lord Bedford? All those lives that fell. Have none of us learned anything?" Joan pressed her lips against Mary, stroking the ex Queen's long dark hair. She enjoyed the taste of those velvety lips, but not as much as she enjoyed bringing joy into Mary's heart. She broke the kiss, looking straight into Mary's beautiful eyes. "Marie, war is terrible. I always hated what had to be done. I was always haunted by those who had to fall to follow the Lord's will. But I remember that all things, even this are the will of the Allmighty. Emile is at peace now, looking down at us from Heaven with love. And we cannot dishonor him by giving into hate. We must fight Ekrizdis and all he represents with love, not hate." Mary pressed herself tight against Joan. "I love you, my Pucelle!" "And I love you, my Reine!"

Edward, Lord of Hertford weighed his options. The Battle of London had gone poorly. He was currently in Wiltshire, waiting for better news. The Scottish Regent Queen was growing in power. But Elizabeth was still there. The Earl of Hertford needed more allies but the Duke of Norfolk was currently in the Tower as his role in the Battle of London was examined. Neville of Westmoreland and Percy of Northumberland were wavering. Edward wouldn't give up the fight. He owed it to his Catherine, Elizabeth would bleed. "I have news, Lord Hertford!" Edward kept his dislike of Egremount Radcliffe. He needed the monster. "Lennox, the Percies and Nevilles are officially backing James of Scotland as the rightful KIng. York will soon, fall!" Edward beamed at that. Elizabeth would bleed, indeed

The Queen of the Veela turned to her sisters. It was time to torment the girl. The girl was absolutely delightful to play with. Her agony, her suffering, the deliciousness of her body. There was something fun about teaching the weeping whelp some manners. She was bound as they liked her. Blindfold around her eyes. And best of all, her pleas. "I will please each one of you! Please spare me tonight!!!" she implored.

"Ursula Kemp!" Ursula spun around to see a younger girl approaching. She had a wand of oak with her. Ursula knew what this was about. In a flash, the Elder Wand was in her hand ready for battle. The girl laughed at the sight of it. "So you have it! Little Ursula Kemp not yet forty has the wand of power!" "Avada Kedavara!" cried out Ursula. The ground rose forming an Earth Statue which disintegrated from the spell. "Crucio!" she heard behind her. Ursula dropped the wand as her body convulsed. Sharp, burning pain ripped her body. Then something worse followed. It was like an army of ants were carrying burning feathers. She cried, screaming with laughter and pain. "You are a pretty little thing, Ursula. I might keep you as a slave. You don't really need these clothes though." A wave of her wand and Ursula screeched even louder. "Such drama over a little tickling. I'll take that!" Anne Parkinson beamed as she took the Elder Wand, feeling its allegiance had transferred to her. She beamed as she cast a spell rarely used by any witch or wizard. She beamed at the result. The Elder Wand had absorbed her own. Anne could hear at least 10 other sounds inside it. The Elder Wand was a composite wand. That was the reason behind its power. And that would be the reason, history would remember Anne Parkinson.

Catherine 'Christina' Fitzroy applied the medicine to the boy. The wounds began slowly to heal. The sight of the poor boy angered her towards the so called Howl Pack of Ekrizdis. The anti-werewolf legislation had made more followers for Ekrizdis than ever. How long could this be allowed to continue? "The boys' parents won't be returning. They know what he has become!" Catherine didn't turn to face Mac Tire. The new Chief Wizengamot's opinion didn't interest her. "When he is healed, we will take the boy to Locriatus." At that Christina did turn around. "He is only 8 years old and you want to jail him?" "He is a werewolf now. We can't let him run around free." "He is a young, innocent child ravaged by a fiend. A victim who you wish to victimise again! How can you act in such a cold, scandalous manner?" "I am informing you as a courtesy, Lady Fitzroy. That is all." replied the Chief before departing. Catherine held back her tears. The boy needed her and she would do right by him.

Isabel Saunders was in hell. Early the next year, she would give birth again. But for now she was at the mercy of the maids. They had even some of the village girls to play with their Mistress. Isabel had already released the contents of her foul juices three times. The beasts had even gotten her tender yea to release a considerable quantity of nectar as well. But her need for release only grew as they explored her tender areas. One particularly cruel village girl has discovered a vulnerable spot in her left middle toe, increasing the pitch of Isabel's cries. "Who wants to try an eagle feather? This one has had success against her tender cheek." To Isabel's horror, soon each girl had an eagle feather and applied it with precision. She tried to bang her head back, seeking the bliss of sleep. But the cackling kept emanating from her throat as feather after feather assaulted quivering skin to the Veela's delight.

Anne Boleyn-Seymour took stock of the situation. There was nothing good about the situation. The Houses of Percy and Neville had acknowledged 4 year old James I of Scotland as the true King of England and Lord of Ireland. They had accumulated a large army backed by the Earl of Lennox to invade York. Egremont Radclyffe and Edward Seymour, Anne's own nephew by marriage, had also sworn their support for James I. The Wizengamot had issued an proclamation, forbidding any magical being from providing assistance to Queen Elizabeth I after many goblins denounced the child King. Ekrizdis was behind all of this. But how could she stop him?

Ekrizdis turned to Alastair McNair, leader of the Howl Pack. "How many have we been able to replace in Locriatus?" "At least two thousand, my Lord! The Howl Pack continues its growth. Soon we will have a proper army!" "Never mind that, now! I have a task for you! The new Chief Wizengamot has an interesting past. I want you to make his future just as interesting. I want him turned!" Alastair bared his yellow teeth. "A pleasure, my Master!" "Go!" commanded Ekrisdis. The Rebellion in the North was going well. A pity the attack on London fell short. And Anne Boleyn was still alive. He felt that familiar rage before he checked on his legitimate great-grandchild Baron Henry Cromwell. Henry had 2 sons and a daughter already. Part of his beloved son, the Earl of Essex would live on. Ekrisdis could still see his son working, his cold, calculating eyes so much like him. And his grandson Gregory. Taken by dragonpox!!! While Boleyn's family was safe. He slashed at a portrait of Henry's Protestant Queen. He knew he needed to keep patient, revenge was at hand.


	7. The Rebellion of the North

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fight for the Elder Wand begins as Scotland initiates a new Anglo-Scottish War.

1 August 1569

Isabel Saunders was in Hell. That was the only answer that made any sense. But what had she done that could merit this? She had served England faithfully. She had brought down the Papacy. But all she got in response was feathers and long nails. Her big belly was still as sensitive as ever. How much more could she endure? "She seems quite sensitive here!" smirked the Veela leader as she began drawing letters with her feathers. Isabel howled as the redhead's actions continued. "All this drama over a fee letters! Ladies, take your feathers, it's time for an education!"

How did a maid letter to write? Had she not been screeching from feathers writing across her underarms, belly, breasts, ribs and feet; she may well have accepted the Hell theory.

Anne forced herself to stay calm. Somehow she avoided making her cousin cry with laughter and pain. "I had to do it, Anne! He is only 8!" Fitzroy looked juat as beseechingly. "So you come to me to ask me to fake the death of a werewolf child and want me to what after? Cure him? He certainly cannot stay here! Its too dangerous for both him and my family!" "Please Anne, I know you can do it!" pleaded Christina Fitzroy nee Catherine Howard. "No! NO! Absolutely not! I am sorry for the boy, I truly am! But you two can't keep coming to me like this to...He has already gone missing hasn't he?" Hissed Anne, her forehead throbbing. Christine and Fitzroy looked away.

Lord Lennox looked ahead. The City of York was ahead of him. He was in a good mood. He had been granted a rare honour by the Queen a few weeks earlier. He got to take his son's murderor's head. Lord Lennox would now help his grandson become King of England and Scotland. Lord Hereford was with him, a man who openly hated the Queen. Lennox felt pity for the violent Earl. His pain unhinged him. But the army at York would fall quickly. Lord Warwick was not his father and Lennox would accomplish a great victory. An additional force of 3,000 men led by Egremount Radclyffe, Lord of Sussex was on its way. The Earl had no intention of waiting. York would soon be Scotland's.

Anne Stafford grinned as Baron Hundson's army headed from Bradmoor Castle instead of York. There would be no-one to stop the army of Lennox taking York. Her cousin was a fool to trust Ambrose Dudley, Earl of Warwick. He would fail and die. Soon England and Scotland would be hers. Her master did not know that his Horcruxes had been moved and destroyed. He would prove to be no match for her. Not now that she had won the Elder Wand. But he still wielded an army, at least for now. She beamed as she took the form of a wolf. She could now change into 9 different animals. Let her enemies find her now!

The Prior of Cato's death revealed only that he had once possessed it. He was no closer to the Elder Wand. It filled him with frustrated fury. Not even the birth of Desmond Black, possessing his own blood dimished his sense of rage. The Resurrection Stone had failed to bring back his son.


End file.
